My first thought was of my aunt. Maybe Mom was at her place? Still hurt. She needed time. I locked the door, put the key back under the doormat, and told myself to give her space. She deserved it.
The phone rang a week later.
Her name appeared on the screen, and my heart sank—not with fear, but with hope. I thought she was finally ready to make up. To apologize. To admit that she had overstepped her bounds.
But the voice on the other side was unfamiliar.
It was from the hospital.
The woman introduced herself as a nurse who was taking care of my mother. Her words flowed in a continuous stream—serious condition, weeks, critical situation. And then, almost quietly, as an addition that should have been said earlier, she added:
Your mother asked us not to call you. She said you have a newborn baby and she doesn't want to be a burden to you.
I don't remember how I hung up.
I drove to the hospital as if the road beneath me might disappear.
